Peace Keepers and Death Eaters
by Bubbybee
Summary: Hermione finds herself suffering from a rare condition resulting from the excessive use of a Time Turner. This causes her to 'flash forward' to a dystopian future. Her, she will live snippets of a dark-haired boy's life and his trials during the events of The Hunger Games and beyond.
1. Chapter 1

It is not wildly known, but in some cases involving the overuse of Time Turners can lead to a rare condition, known as _Aevum__tripudio._ This condition sees the Witch or Wizard entering a trance and receiving 'flashes' or 'visions' from another period of time. This condition is often mistaken with having 'sight' and will go undiagnosed. Sufferers will often find themselves 'visiting' a particular individual on these occasions. Diagnosed witches and wizards have reported that these visitations are eerily similar to that of entering a pensive, characterised by the inability to interact with the objects and people around you, and to be forcefully shifted between 'scenes'. In even rarer cases of this already rare condition, the 'visited' individual will also get these flashes of the suffering Witch or Wizard. There are currently only three sufferers of _Aevum__tripudio_ worldwide, but there has only been one person in history who has received these 'dual visitations'.

In her third year of Hogwarts, Hermione Jean Granger was supplied with a Time-Turner to complete all her education demands. On average, she would use it two or three times a day, despite the Ministry's recommendations of only once a week. This over-use lead to her heightened levels of _Aevemtirum_ which lead to an increased incidence of these 'flashes' that sent her eight hundred years forward in North America.

To begin with, Hermione's flashes were short, lasting only seconds with no real substance or information. She would see a forest; smell a strong scent or even a figure in the distance. These flashes did not cause her to enter an altered state of consciousness, but would come to her during normal waking consciousness.

It wasn't until her first Divination lesson that she had her first real visitation. On that particular afternoon, Professor Trelawney had been burning pine incense, and Hermione has admitted that that particular class was far less stimulating than a normal class. This scent coupled with the omission of Alpha brain waves may have acted as a trigger to force some sort of connection between two very different people in two very different worlds.

A boy of around fifteen sat on a hillside, stripping some grass. His dark hair blowing in the breeze. His brow furrowed in concentration, as if he were considering something. His callused, hands were not of some who had an easy life. Despite his young age, the boy's intense eyes hinted that he had seen in his short life than anyone would ever want to see.

Without warning, the scene swirled and changed, and he was standing in a crowd of other boys his age with an anxious expression on his face. He seemed to be staring intently at a woman standing on a stage. She had the unmistakeable aura of someone who didn't belong. This was confirmed by her bright blue hair, out of place among the dark and blonde. The woman was parading around the stage, gesturing wildly. She dipped her hand into a glass bowl sitting on one side of the stage and pulled something out. From that distance, Hermione wasn't able to see what it was, but she knew it must have been important. The pink woman

There was the boy sitting on a grassy slope. He looked to be around fifteen, and had deep brown hair and steely gray eyes. Despite his young age, the boy's intense eyes hinted that he had seen in his short life than anyone would ever want to see. Simple leather boots adorned his feet, and he wore what Hermione would come to recognise as a hunter's knife on his belt. He looked up, watching the flight path of a soaring black and white bird as it dived. His callused hands absently picked and stripped at the blades of green grass. A troubled look flashed over his face as the bird swooped at a frog, but before Hermione could make any sense of it, the scene shifted.

The boy was now surrounded by a mass of other dark-haired boys. They were lined up in rows inside what looked to be a cattle pen. A blonde boy standing directly behind her boy- that was how she had come to think of him- with tears streaking down his blotchy face. Nearby, a younger boy was sobbing in the arms of his double. Every single boy there looked grim… except hers. He was staring intently at a stage that had been erected beneath two giant screens. It was then that she noticed that they were not standing in a cattle pen, but in a town square. It was then that Hermione noticed the identical mass of girls lined up on the other side of the square. The only difference was that these girls were openly weeping, unlike the silent tears of the surrounding boys. There was a commotion on the stage, and the screens flashed on.

A muffled tune filled her ears. It was as if she was wearing her ear plugs from Herbology: she could hear sounds, but wasn't able to distinguish what was happening. This garbled sound played while a starburst and eagle appeared. This was replaced with horrifying images of murder and destruction. One particular image showed a girl not much older than herself slitting the throat of an older boy. Hermione found herself gagging and had to avert her eyes. This gave her a chance to study the people seated on the stage:

A well dressed older man sat at the end, dabbing his brow every now and then. He was alternating between watching the screen, and glancing worriedly at someone in the girl's pen. Next to him sat a drooping man. His dark hair sat at messy angles, and he was clutching a brown bottle as if his life depended on it. He was glaring angrily at his knee, where a pale hand was perched in excitement. This belonged to a radiant woman in silver and green. She wore an emerald wig and looked as if her make up had been done by an over zealous monkey. A silver flower adorned her right cheek, and her silver eyes were glued to the screen above, enthralled. She seemed to be drinking in the death and destruction being broadcast, even reciting some of the lines. Soon- but not soon enough- the film finished, and the green woman stood and pranced across the stage to an awaiting microphone. Standing there, she gestured wildly, speaking rapidly before dunking her hand into a nearby bowel. She retrieved a folded piece of paper and read out what was on it.

Almost immediately, a circle of girls stepped back, creating a ring around a young, blonde girl of maybe sixteen. She was shocked, and didn't- or couldn't- move from the spot. Two armed men in white came forward and grabbed the girl by the arms and started dragging her towards the stage. _Now_ she was moving. She was kicking and screaming, throwing her weight around. Shocked by this violent behaviour, Hermione called out, and attempted to wade through the bodies over to help the girl, but she found her hands passing straight through their bodies. Her shout died out before it left her lips. It was then that she realised that she was but a guest in this world. She had no weight, no substance. Literally. She watched in horror as one of the armed men through the girl to the ground on the stage. Hermione glanced over to see how her boy was reacting.

His face was devoid of emotion, but not his eyes. His eyes were filled with pure hatred so intense, that Hermione stepped back, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his rage. To her astonishment, he didn't lunge out at the nearest guard, but spat on the ground. Now the green and silver woman approached the second bowl and, with a flourish of her hand, retrieved another slip of paper.

This time, it was an older boy who walked, stony faced, up to the stage. Hermione's boy's mouth was open in astonishment, but closed it so quickly that she was afraid that she had imagined it. His eyes softened to what appeared to be pity, and he cursed under his breath. He looked towards one of the many adults standing around the outside of the pens. A woman was on her knees, weeping. Her face buried in her hands, her body wracked with sobs. A frown formed on her brow. What was happening here?

Her boy turned to directly face Hermione. A shocked look appeared on his face for a fraction of a second. She glanced nervously around her, hoping that he was looking at someone else. He studied her face intently. Her hand flew up to her mouth in shock. Could he see her?

'Who-?' he began, but was cut off by a young boy running over to him. This boy had the same steely eyes and dark hair as her own boy, so she guessed it must be his brother.

'Gale! You didn't get reaped!' he cried, flinging himself into his brother's arms.

Her boy, Gale, it would seem, glanced at his brother, then up to Hermione again. He looked troubled, confused even.

'Where did the girl go?' he demanded.

'Girl?' his brother asked sweetly.

'Yes, the girl! Geez, Rory. Right there! She had bushy hair and was wearing… you know what? Never mind.'

Everything went black, and Hermione found herself sprawled on the table in her class being intently watched by what appeared to be a giant insect.

While that was her first visitation, it certainly wasn't his last.

**Sorry for the Slap-Dash ending, but I really must get to bed. I may or may not fix it up later.**


	2. Chapter 2: Gale

I remember the first time I saw the girl:  
It was the day of the reaping, not long before it all began. The year that Robin and Franklin Cole were reaped - the first brother and sister reaped in years. You can image the field day the Capitol had with their name. 'Coals, Minors from District Twelve!'. It was awful watching Mrs. Cole go to pieces. They were all she had after her husband had died all those years ago.

The morning of that particular reaping, I was waiting in the woods. Waiting for what, I didn't know, but I waited. I had taken out another five tesserae and knew that there was a good chance that it would be me taking the train ride to the Capitol this year. Though I don't remember it, I must have been whistling because a flock of mockingjays congregated just down the hill from me.  
They were magnificent creatures; their white wings seemed to shimmer in the early morning light, and their whistles were crisp and clean. They squawked and squealed, whistling faster and faster. Higher and higher. Before long, they had given me a headache with their never ending chatter so I half heatedly threw a handful of pebbles in their direction. They all scattered and disappeared from view, bar one. This one took flight, but stayed circling above me for some time.  
I sat, stripping blades of grass while the time ticked by. In just a few hours, I could have been on my way to the Capitol. These could be the last few hours of my 'normal' life. I could be on my way to die. One thing could be said about The Hunger Games is gives you a lot to think about and makes you appreciate what you have. That is probably why it took me so long to feel that something wasn't right. I could feel a presence was near by, that strange tingling on the back of your neck that you can't account for. Looking around, I couldn't see a soul. A tangy taste filled my mouth, like mint and lemons. A sharp intake of breath. Someone had gasped, but more quietly than I would have thought possible. If I had of moved or made the slightest sound, I would have missed it.  
I didn't know it at the time, but this must have been my first encounter with The Girl. Whenever she was around she left me tasting phantom herbs and fruits, but I suppose I'll get to that later. I stood and slowly turned around, my hand instinctively reaching for my knife. I cursed. How would I survive in the Hunger Games if I couldn't sit in my home territory without being ambushed? I watched the tree line, but no one showed their face. It was then that the mocking jay swooped gracefully at its awaiting prey. It's amazing how something so beautiful can be so deadly and how easily temperaments can change.

After that, I went home and prepared for the reaping as best I could. It was always a struggle getting through those mornings of uncertainty. There were always so many questions: Is there any point in making my bed if there was a chance I wouldn't be coming home? Should I bother putting my socks in the wash if I was never going to wear them again? Why should I collect the fire wood if I didn't get to feel its warmth?  
My mind was plagued with these questions right until we were making our way to the square. We shuffled, like animals, into our lines and waited for the film to play. It is the same every year, save for the editions from the latest Games. We all stared into the screen, not really seeing. We had all seen it, and knew what it was saying even if we didn't understand why. Even the youngest of the children were now desensitised to the violence. Just as the footage of District Two's Florence slitting District Three's Ringwald's throat was shown, I heard that gasp behind me and that tangy taste filled my mouth once again. I was confused. Anyone standing behind me would be older than me- they would have seen this film more often than I had, and they would have watched that fight live. Why were they suddenly so shocked about it? There was something else too. Something it took me all of Effie Trinket's speech to place: the gasp was from a girl.  
It was impossible for a girl to have snuck into our section. It was even more so that this girl had never seen this film or, come to think of it, know where I wait in the woods.  
'Robin Cole!' Effie announced.  
A gaping gap was made between Robin and the other girls, as if, just by being near her, they could catch her misfortune. Not surprisingly, no one volunteered for the poor girl. She stood frozen, until she was 'escorted' to the stage. The poor girl was thrown around, screaming and wailing. At that moment, I wanted nothing more then to wipe those smug looks off the peacekeeper's faces. Had I a knife, I would have... Well, done nothing pleasant. Wasn't it bad enough that the girl was being led to her death? Did they really need to add the insult of man-handling her in front of all of Panem?

There it was again: the sharp intake of breath from the unknown girl, this time accompanied by a cold shiver down my back, as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over me. Just as I was about to turn around, Effie made her announcement, and I was forced to direct my attention to her once again.

This could have been it. This could have been the beginning of the end of my life…  
But it wasn't. It was the announcement to all, that this would be the last time we would ever see Franklin as the boy he was. The last time we saw him in the flesh before he became a murderer slaughtering three twelve year old girls before being stabbed in the spine.  
Now that all was done, I turned in search of the girl, and there she was. As soon as I locked eyes with her, a hand flew to her mouth in shock. The girl was younger than me, maybe thirteen or so. She was wearing what could only be described as robes. Long, black material covered her. She wore a short pleated skirt, long, gray socks and the dainty shoes that are only seen in the Capitol. She wore a woollen vest with a strange insignia. He vest and tie were adorned with alternating stripes of blood-red and gold. Her pink cheeks were scattered with freckles, and her big, bushy brown hair sat like a halo around her head. Slowly, she took her hands from her mouth and held them at her sides and cocked her head to the side, studying me. I will always hold that first image of my girl in my mind. It was the moment that I knew that everything was about to change.  
I dared not look away, afraid that she might vanish. Rory had other plans. He came barrelling across the square and jumped into my arms, apparently pleased that I wasn't going off to die... Yet.  
He screeched something, and I looked away. It was just a second, but I regretted it instantly.  
She was gone.

I had a sleepless night, or what felt like one anyway. I suppose I must have slept to have dreamed but these days, you never know. I was in a dimly lit room, filled with cushy arm-chairs and tables. It seemed to be decorated with the same red and gold as my girl's tie. The same insignia hung above the fireplace. Two boys-identical twins, around my age-sat in the far corner of the room, their red heads together. A young boy with blonde hair was fiddling with a camera film. Another was chasing a toad. Three girls sat on the hearth warming their feet while writing with a feather- a quill? They were all wearing the same sort of clothes as my girl. Suddenly, one of the red-head twins pulled a twig from his sleeve and waved it. He said something and a burst of orange light flew out and hit one of the girls. I assume she must have shrieked, but I could only hear muffled sounds, like someone had their hands over my ears. Questions filled my mind: What was that twig? What sort of technology were these people creating? Was it some sort of electrical shock that could be discussed as a branch? And, I am ashamed to say, where can I get one? But, no. The girl hadn't been shocked. She stormed up to the twin who had blasted her and slapped him. Oddly enough, her hair had changed colour. While it was once a dark brown, her hair now pulsated with greens and oranges.

'So this must be some sort of Capitol beauty place.' I murmured. That seemed to explain some things, but not all of them. Suddenly, there was a commotion at the door. Well, a hole in the wall at least. Three people entered, two of them seemed to be arguing. A tall spotty boy with red hair was complaining loudly to a pale boy with messy hair and glasses. He pointed an accusing finger at the third figure, and my heart seemed to stop: it was my girl. What was she doing here? If these people were from the capitol, she didn't belong. While her hair was similar to that seen in the Capitol, she didn't really look like the type. She seemed to be carrying a bright red wig in her arms. No, not a wig. It was moving and squirming. It was then that I realised that this hair-ball was a cat. It was writhing and squirming, trying with all it's might to reach the red-headed boy. My hearing was coming into focus more now.

'-that THING!' the boy shouted. His be speckled friend opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a flash going off. The boy with the camera had taken advantage of his not paying attention and had taken his picture. The dark-haired boy frowned and turned to the boy with the camera and the tall one ran up a flight of stairs off to the side of the room. That left the girl, and she was staring right at me, her mouth open.

'No' she said with conviction. 'You are not real. You cannot be here.'

She had a strange accent. Her voice seemed to curl around the words as she spoke rather than bursting them out. It was soft and elegant, sort of fancy and, in a way, reminded me of Effie.

She, too, pulled a twig from her sleeve and pointed it at my chest. She walked slowly forwards. I stood my ground. The worst she could do was poke me. Turns out, she couldn't even do that. She took one more step. One that should have placed her twig on my chest, but instead sent it though. What was happening? My girl looked as shocked as I was. She hastily took a step back, composed herself and aimed again.

'_Petrificus_ _Totalus_!' she whispered.

A white light shot out of her stick and through my chest.

A dull thump sounded behind me. The girl was frozen in place, not taking her eyes off me, so I hazarded a look. The boy who had been chasing the toad had fallen on his face. The twins from earlier appeared at the fallen boy's side and one of them poked him with the toe of his shoe.

'Careful where you spurt those, Hermione. You might hit someone.' One sniggered.

'Oh, Shut Up, George.' She replied, though her heart wasn't in it. She slid her glance back to me.

'Please, go.' She whispered. And I did. Her words seemed to release me and I woke up, sweating and panting, back in District 12.


End file.
